


An Unkind Galaxy

by von_gikkingen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Knowhere (Marvel), Non-Sexual Slavery, POV Original Character, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Somewhat out of character Korath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “So, you remember those Kree fanatics that rolled into town and made such mess of things?”“That’s been, what, three days ago?” I say, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Do you know anyone who forgot about them already?”“Yeah, okay, they were pretty memorable,” chuckles the man. “Definitely made an impression on Tivan. He just bought one of them.”“He did what now...?” I say, wondering if that was supposed to make sense to me.“Yeah. Got some of his usual thugs snatch the body out of a Xandarian morgue. Not him,” he adds as soon as he sees my alarmed expression. “Ronan has been atomized during the battle, I have that on good authority. No chance of that sociopath returning to the living. Tivan had to settle for one of his main lackeys.”“But... a dead lackey, though, right...?” I ask, really hoping I’m getting that part right. He did say a morgue, after all...“Sure. Dead one. But a dead guy that had a head stuffed full of tech while alive, so... you know... wouldn’t put it past Tivan to have some way to zap those circuits back into life.”
Relationships: Korath-Thak/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	An Unkind Galaxy

“Special delivery for the Collector.” 

A sentence I heard more times than I can count, but even after all these years it never fails to sound ominous. 

Whatever it was they were bringing him it couldn’t be good. Not this soon after a significant part of his collection has been vaporized.

Of course he would be all about acquiring new rarities to make himself feel better now that he was done indulging his previous coping mechanism of getting as drunk as it was possible for him to get. I do the sane thing and step out of their way, letting them continue on their way to the creepy menagerie that lies at the heart of Knowhere unobstructed. And try my best to ignore the fact that what this crew of freelancers is carrying looks to be the perfect size to accommodate a body of someone of an average-sized species. 

Which is not the disquieting part of this. What is really upsetting is that I’d be more worried if they were bringing him something other than a body. Because that was the norm around here. Boxes much like this one arrived all the time, their contents soon moved into one of the many claustrophobic cells scattered around the huge room to add to the atmosphere of a prison whose inmates committed a crime no greater than being born unique. Rare in this galaxy and therefore destined to never leave Tivan’s domain. 

I should pity whatever creature has lost their freedom this time – but who has pity to spare on Knowhere? We’re all far too busy feeling sorry for ourselves... 

*** 

“I really thought I knew what kind of weird to expect from him. And then he goes and does something like this...” 

“Something like what?” I ask. 

Regretting the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth because I didn’t quite take in the disturbed expression of the speaker before I had the stupid idea to start talking to him. 

“So, you remember those Kree fanatics that rolled into town and made such mess of things?” 

“That’s been, what, three days ago?” I say, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Do you know anyone who forgot about them already?”

“Yeah, okay, they were pretty memorable,” chuckles the man. “Definitely made an impression on Tivan. He just bought one of them.”

“He did what now...?” I say, wondering if that was supposed to make sense to me. 

“Yeah. Got some of his usual thugs snatch the body out of a Xandarian morgue. Not him,” he adds as soon as he sees my alarmed expression. “Ronan has been atomized during the battle, I have that on good authority. No chance of that sociopath returning to the living. Tivan had to settle for one of his main lackeys.” 

“But... a dead lackey, though, right...?” I ask, really hoping I’m getting that part right. He did say _a morgue_ , after all... 

“Sure. Dead one. But a dead guy that had a head stuffed full of tech while alive, so... you know... wouldn’t put it past Tivan to have some way to zap those circuits back into life.” 

“That... is the creepiest thing I ever heard,” I tell him in my most serious tone, just to let him know I mean every word. Because it absolutely is. More so because I can believe that is something the Collector might feel like making a project out of to kill time between deliveries. The man had a devious enough mind to consider that an idea worth his time. 

“It is, isn’t it? But hey, if anyone deserves a shitty deal like that...” replies my new, very talkative friend. Not bothering to finish that sentence because was there a need? Same as I don’t bother to tell him that, yes, he definitely has a point there. 

Having some idea about just how much control Tivan liked to have over the people that worked for him I could imagine how short a leash the Kree was going to be kept on. Shorter even than all those interchangeable pretty Krylorians one always saw around the place. If he had the kind of augmentation that might have made it possible for him to be restored to life, well, that definitely offered his new owner access to a multitude of ways of restraining his autonomy. He’d be less than a slave in this new life he was being granted. 

The more I thought about it the more it sounded like the kind of punishment no Kree or Xandarian authority could ever hope to inflict on him. Something that sounded like true justice, what with it being very much fate worse than death. Fate that would prevent death in fact, if Tivan knew what he was doing – and he usually did. He was going to make it impossible for Ronan’s pet killer to end his life while making his existence one of unconditional servitude...

“What?” asks the man who has all this interesting intel about the Collector’s latest undertaking. I smile as I explain, unable to help myself. “That is the way to do it, isn’t it?” he replies when I’m finished, “Make him shut down the moment he even thinks about ending himself. You can do that to people with certain kinds of neural augmentation. They never think about how easy they’re making it for someone to control them when they’re putting metal under their skin, do they...?” 

I can only nod. Finishing my drink in one quick swallow before leaving the bar and heading for the outer rim of Knowhere. Where I’m only assaulted by further gossip. Most of it coming from people who only know Tivan has someone new in his employ but don’t know the first thing about this newcomer’s identity. Not that it prevents them from coming up with crazy theories... 

“I heard he had the Sovereign grow someone in one of their birthing pods for him. Someone with the perfect skillset for this kind of work,” tells me one of my colleagues at the spaceport. 

“It’s mainly stealing,” I sigh. “The skillset really isn’t that unique, you know.” 

“It’s not _just_ stealing.” 

“Right. It’s kidnapping too,” I say, making a face. “My point stands. Any thug can do that.” 

“Maybe he’s sick of dealing with thugs. I mean, that’s how his place got blown up.” 

“That is _not_ how his place got blown up,” I say. Though I don’t elaborate. It’s just far too sad a story and one I am certain is going to repeat. I’m sure he’s already shopping for another demure, skinny girl that’ll never go another day in her life without calling him master... 

There’s no escaping the subject, not on Knowhere. It’s not that we’re endlessly fascinated by the Collector and the things he does – it’s just that experience had taught us that the more we knew the better our chances of not becoming involved. Which was always the best strategy. Not one that was open to us all the time, not with how heavily his shadow lay on this place and everyone that called it home. But one could always hope, right? And for once I actually did. Because how likely was the reanimated Kree to cross my path...? 

***

“Oh shit... is that...?” 

“Yep,” I say only, watching the menacing figure approaching us with growing unease. Because what were the chances he was not headed for one of the ships Collector had us maintain and keep on standby in case they’re ever needed? And given the purposeful way he moves in the direction of the spaceport one is definitely needed now. The fastest we can find for him... 

“You think you can find out what we’re supposed to be calling him?” asks one of the mechanics from somewhere behind me. Making me turn and finally catch up to the fact that while I’ve been watching the approaching figure of Tivan’s new henchman most of my colleagues took a step or two back. 

“Why am I the one that has to talk to him?” I say, really wishing the words didn’t come out as panicked as they did. 

“You’re good with people,” replies my immediate superior in a tone that tells me he sure as hell isn’t going to do it. “Not that we know for a fact he’s... you know... _people_.” 

I’m about to make a sarcastic comment but before I can I’m out of time. He comes to a stop in front of me and I find myself in the perfect position to get a nice close look at his new uniform. That’s designed to preserve the secret of his identity, what with the helmet obscuring his face and the body-armour that doesn’t leave a single inch of skin exposed. Which is only going to make the gossip worse, I’m sure – but what does Tivan care about gossip so long as none of us are spreading rumours about one of Ronan’s men surviving the battle of Xandar...? For all I knew he was deliberately making this a bigger mystery than it needed to be just to give us something to talk about. Because none of the crazy theories the people of Knowhere were liable to come up with could ever be as improbable as the truth... 

“I need a ship,” he tells me without preamble, his voice gruff and impatient and somehow telling me absolutely nothing about what to expect from him. 

And what can I possibly say to that? It’s not like this is the time to try to be all professional and start asking him about whether the Collector has approved this. No, this is the time to agree with everything the big scary man says and let him have whichever ship he likes the look of because life around here was hard enough without me making it harder on myself by antagonizing the likes of him... 

***

The thing about living on Knowhere is that every day is a goddamn trip. And yes, sometimes something happens that is weird even for this place – but sooner or later it just fades into the general weirdness. How can it not? We’re the people who wake up, eat their breakfast and go to work _inside of someone’s skull_ every goddamn day. It was either learn to take things in our stride or go mad thinking about just how bizarre even the most ordinary moments of our lives are. 

Was it a little scary to be dealing with someone I knew was hiding a face of a deceased Kree terrorist under his helmet? Yes. Was it a little less scary the next time? Absolutely. And as the weeks passe his comings and goings became just another thing we had to deal with at the spaceport. Most people even lost interest in guessing who it was under all that armour and why one never saw him without it, assuming it was something Tivan had a good reason for making him do. Or a bad one. Who knew with the creepy hoarder...? 

Me, I never found the mystery particularly interesting because it was never a mystery to me to begin with. Having run into a guy whose cousin was responsible for making the body disappear from the Xandarian morgue I knew a lot more than I ever wanted to from the very beginning. Seeing him always heading out to hunt another treasure or to capture another rare creature I could never summon as much pity for him as others seemed to have felt once they realized there really was nothing more to his life besides doing the Collector’s bidding. It was barely a life at all, really, merely an existence. But did someone who ended the lives of so many deserve better? 

No, I really couldn’t bring myself to pity him at all. And hey – that left me with more time to feel sorry for myself, so it was a win win, really... 

***

“Are you kidding me...?” I sigh, as I pull the logs from his latest journey. Not something I’m in the habit of doing, but he did return the ship in hell of a state this time. And then there was the less than elegant landing and the blue bloodstains all over the pilot seat that told me this was a particularly harrowing trip. 

“Is there a problem?” 

I jump at the sound of his voice. As I would because I definitely saw him leave before I boarded and started assessing the damage. 

“There is,” I reply, finding myself unable to bite my tongue as my eyes stray to the records of his last journey. “This is a really dangerous territory. Most sane people avoid it.” 

“Yes. Most sane people follow the route that leads through Xandarian space,” he replies tonelessly. 

“Oh,” I say involuntarily as I get the picture. “ _Right_. That checks out.” 

“Excuse me...?” 

His face might be hidden from me but I just know he just narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Because suspicion is the correct reaction to what I just said. To _how_ I said it. It was far too knowing a tone for him to miss it. That I knew why he would want to steer clear of that part of the galaxy... 

“I just meant...” I stammer out even as it dawns on me I have no idea how to lie my way out of this one. And the next thing I know his hand is on the panel by the door and it’s closing because of course it is. Locking me in here would be the obvious thing to do on finding out I know his true identity... “Okay, fine,” I say, since that’s probably my best strategy here. “I know who you are. I knew from day one. Never told anyone. Not going to. I mean... who would believe me?” 

“Some might,” he says as he takes a step closer. 

“No one from around here. It’s a crazy story but they all assume the truth is even crazier. It’s all those rumours Tivan spread back when he... bought you...” I say, my voice trembling just a little because this is not a fun situation for me. Because I have absolutely no idea what he’s planning on doing here. For all I knew his master would have no problem with him silencing an inconvenient witness... 

I hold my breath as I wait for a reply, any reply. There isn’t one. He only takes another slow step towards me before removing his helmet. 

His eyes have been rendered an unnatural shade of blue by augmentation and I just know that if I even think about lying they’ll catch me at it. “If you wanna know who told me I... well, okay, I don’t actually know his name. But I can describe him,” I tell him, wondering how much longer he’s planning on just standing there watching me with an absolutely unreadable expression. 

“Why?” he asks a long, tense second later. 

“Why what?” 

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” 

“It would make me enemies I don’t need. Enemies I couldn’t survive having,” I reply. “I don’t know about you but I enjoy being alive.” 

Definitely the wrong thing to say but there’s no taking the words back now. His disquietingly blue eyes close for just a moment and his expression shifts into one of such weariness all I can think of is how the hell is he keeping it together. How long before he can’t anymore... 

It’s easy enough to think of this as his due – this new life that’s been forced on him and that he has no hope of escaping. Easy to think of it as justice when considering the multitude of crimes he committed out of Kree zealotry. But seeing him like this, seeing nothing more and nothing less than a person very close to their breaking point, I’m startled to realize that I can find it in me to feel something as inappropriate as pity after all. 

“Most people do, don’t they?” he says in a voice so quiet I have to wonder if the words are meant for me at all. 

It’s unbearable to watch, the vulnerability I see in him then. Far more disturbing than anything else I can imagine him doing in the increasingly claustrophobic space of the ship. I’d much rather be threatened or attacked than exposed to this. This horrible truth, all the worse for being something I suspected all along. And I want to see him as someone who deserved this but even though I believed that just a moment ago I no longer could. 

Looking at him, at this person he was now, I could just about believe that Korath actually did die on Xandar. That all Tivan owned was a ghost... 

I let a moment pass and then another, but eventually I clear my throat to remind him we were in the middle of a conversation here. One I wasn’t particularly enjoying but I’ll still take it over this silence. “You should probably get started on the repairs,” he tells me, shifting into a neutral tone that is far closer to what I’m used to from him. 

“So should you,” I say, making him pause in the act of putting his helmet back on. “I saw the blood...” 

He makes no reply. Never even acknowledges he heard me, merely puts his usual disguise back in the place and leaves the ship. That, true, needs some serious repairs. But not as badly as I need a goddamn drink right now... 

***

“Are you okay?” 

“I am... _not_ ,” I reply with a lot of feeling on the last word. “Let’s get this damn ship fixed. Who knows how soon he’ll be needing it again, right?” 

“That’s... Yeah, I can’t argue with that,” comments my stressed out looking boss. “That being said, you working on it in your current state...” 

“Please. I do a better job drunk than most of you do stone cold sober,” I say, waving the most threatening instrument my toolbag has to offer vaguely in his direction. And since that’s yet another thing he can’t exactly argue with he responds in the only way he can and simply gets the hell out of my way. 

It’s really not that bad, _my current state_. Barely intoxicated at all and not in a way that would prevent me from getting stuff done. I did cut myself off as soon as I realized that the melancholy my little encounter with Tivan’s new employee of the month left me with is not going to be easily diluted in alcohol. 

“What were you celebrating anyway?” 

“What...?” I say, glancing over my shoulder when I realize he followed me into the engine room. “Oh, the usual thing. This galaxy is a horrible place and it puts us through so much and how the hell are we expected to keep it together when it just keeps coming up with inventive new ways to hurt us and...” 

“There’s nothing any of us could have done for her. Carina,” he says, making me flinch at the sound of the name. 

That might not have been the exact reason I felt like getting drunk in the middle of a workday but, well, it’s not like it wasn’t a part of it. Her and every single girl like her that came before. That, yes, none of us could have done anything for because keeping our heads down so we don’t attract Tivan’s attention was a full time job. And it’s not like I didn’t find her my reason for getting wasted in the past – never mind my reason to start sobbing over starship engine component more than once in the weeks since her so dramatic death. It’s just how I was built. For all the many, many days when I was able to keep it together there still were some when stuff like this got to me. Made me feel things I knew I’d be better off not feeling, but here I still was, crushed under the weight of all that deep, heartbreaking sadness. Because was this really the universe we deserved. What the hell did we do to earn nothing better than this? 

And what the hell was wrong with me for somehow expecting anything like justice out of it? Today of all days, when the one person I knew to have gotten an appropriate punishment for his many past crimes became yet another reason why I might be crying myself to sleep tonight...

“Look,” I say, dropping my toolbox on the ground as I survey the less than ideal condition of most of the machinery surrounding me. “We both know I can get all this into working order. Feel free to stand over there and watch me do it – but I _will_ be swearing at the universe the whole time. Possibly through tears. Are you sure you want a front row seat to that?” 

He is sure, it seems. Sure he _doesn’t_ want to witness me do any of that. And so, within seconds, I’m all alone on the ship. Just me and the misbehaving engine. Just how I like it. Because there’s no way any of this cold, dead machinery can completely change the way I feel about it in a single moment.

“I’m so done with this fucking galaxy...” I swear under my breath as I angrily brush away a tear before it makes any more progress down my cheek. 

***

“What?” 

Well, so much for managing to hide the fact I have something to say about this. Him actually managing to make it back to Knowhere without bleeding all over the ship for once... 

“Just seems like things went well this time,” I shrug. “I might not even spend the whole weekend on fixing the ship this time. Only most of it.” 

“I’m sorry you find it so inconvenient to do your job,” he replies, in a tone far too neutral for me to be able to tell if that was meant to be sarcasm. 

“It’s a shitty job. That I’m not getting paid well enough for.” 

He says nothing. The silence speaks volumes, though. Because me complaining about a job I do actually get paid for to someone whose only reward is yet more rare treasures to acquire for his owner... not exactly tactful, was it? 

I sigh, missing the times when I knew how to keep quiet around him. Back when I was certain any slightest provocation will be met with violence. And it should have been a lot more disturbing, the fact that I knew better now. “No bloodstains either,” I comment.

“Most of my bleeding is internal this time.” 

That catches me off guard because what the hell can I say to that? Especially since he’s most likely telling me nothing but the truth... “Can you make it back to Collector’s place?” I frown. And then it’s happening again. The doors closing, the helmet coming off, the dangerous blue eyes boring into mine. “ _What_? What did I do this time...?” 

“Why do you care?” he says. Words that just sound exhausted, nothing more. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes I just do. Seeing people be miserable makes me miserable and I know, _I know_ , that’s a character flaw and I need to do something about it,” I say, seeing he’s about to make a comment. “People have been telling me my entire life. You wanna be the next person that gives me that awesome piece of advice, knock yourself out...” 

That leaves him momentarily speechless. He just watches me for the longest time. Which should make me a lot more uncomfortable than it actually does, but, well, he’s been a fixture of my life for a few weeks now and that was slowly but surely transforming him from a vague menacing figure into a person. One I did have the occasional conversation with. Usually about whatever crazy thing he was expected to do on his latest journey and how the hell did he manage to return from it in one piece... 

“I can make it back,” he says eventually. “Even if I have to crawl, I’ll make it back to... my master...” 

At least he can say the word with something approaching disgust. Good. Because the day he can’t manage that is the day it’s gonna be all over for him... 

“Okay that.. _that_ is a shitty job,” I say before I can think better of it. 

He only looks away, having nothing to say to that. 

“How bad is it, really? The... internal bleeding,” I add since he’s clearly struggling to figure out what the hell I mean by that. 

“I’ll live.” 

“Yes, that’s a given. But... are you in pain or...” 

“If I was what possible difference would that make to you?” he replies tonelessly. 

“Look I’m just trying to...” 

“What? What is it you’re trying to do?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. And to be fair that is a good question. 

“Treat you like a person,” I reply after a momentary hesitation. And end the conversation right there, apparently. Because as abruptly as he removed his disguise earlier he just puts it right back on. Reaching for the panel by the door. In the very next moment. “ _Seriously_?” I say, blinking in surprise at the speed with which he did all that. 

“I have to go,” he says only, one foot already out the door. 

“Right,” I comment wryly, even though the thing I really feel like calling after him is something along the lines of _you walking away doesn’t mean this conversation is over_... 

But he probably knows that. And if he doesn’t I’ll just make it clear to him the next time. His life is nothing but an endless cycles of departures and returns with nothing but a whole lot of danger in between – and that means he can’t avoid the spaceport. So yeah, we’ll talk again. It’s inevitable. He has no more hope of avoiding me than he has of leaving Knowhere for good. 

No more hope than I have of figuring out what the hell was it that made me look forward to that next talk. Because there was being a softie and then there was whatever the hell I was up to these days. Being nice to someone who made the conscious decision to join Ronan’s genocidal cause, even just occasionally, was not something that spoke well about the state of my mental health. 

“Do I even want to know?” says one of my colleagues as she does her usual less-than-perfectly-coordinated shuffle in my direction. Definitely planning on joining me on the ship at some point, or so I’m assuming.

“Bold of you to assume I have any idea what’s going on,” I sigh. 

“I mean the rest of us he just ignores.” 

“Maybe I’m a lot better at making it clear I will not be ignored,” I shrug. Smiling to hide my discomfort because that is a valid observation. He _does_ ignore most people. And was it really smart of me to make him pay attention to me...? 

“Are we going to start working on the ship or...?” 

“ _Or_ ,” I say, giving her a quick, sideways look. “Definitely. Whatever option number two is, let’s do that instead.” 

“We are paid to keep the thing in working order, you know.” 

“I do,” I say, giving up. 

It would have been nice to stand here a little longer, watching the retreating figure of the scariest people of my acquaintance until I lost him in the crowd. But she’s right. We do have a job to do here. One assigned to us by one of the worst people in this part of the galaxy – and after the conversation I just had I am all for not doing anything Taneleer Tivan might misinterpret as upsetting. 

***

“You’ve seen, didn’t you? What’s under the...” she says, waving a hand in front of her face rather than bother to finish the sentence. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, never lifting my eyes off the readouts I’m studying to make extra sure we didn’t miss anything.

“Yes you do. I mean... we all know he must be Kree,” she says. Because that hasn’t been a mystery to any of us for quite some time now, what with how much of his blood we had to clean up at one time or another. “But you... _you_ can answer the most important question of all.” 

“Which is?” 

“Is he hot?” 

I burst out laughing because, dammit, how did I not expect that question? Of course that’s the one thing she’d care about. And she’s going to wriggle her damn eyebrows at me until I answer... “I don’t know what to say to that,” I reply, still grinning. 

“Don’t know how to answer a yes or no question?” she says, struggling hard to keep a straight face. “Because I’m pretty sure there are two possible answers you can give me at the very least...” 

“In theory, sure. But... Look, I just... don’t think that part of my brain is working properly when he’s around...” I say vaguely. 

“That’s not possible. We are living _inside a corpse_ ,” she says. Slowly. Deliberately. Making extra sure I can’t miss what it is she’s aiming at. “There is no one on this colony who doesn’t have that part of their brain on all of the time, not unless they’re too young or way too old. And sometimes not even then because, well, you met my grandma...”

I did, too. And I was forever dreading the end of any sentence she opened with _if I was twenty years younger_... “Look, I know what you’re saying and you’re right. Too aware of my own mortality not to be horny most of the time,” I reply because this is Knowhere and we were very much in the same boat – all us consenting adults living inside a dead alien’s skull. “I just... really can’t answer that question.” 

“Well take a better look next time, then. Or better yet, tell me what the hell did you do to make him show you his face and I can...” 

“ _No,_ ” I say before she can get any further. 

“That’s not just any no. That’s a no you’re very serious about,” she says, frowning at me. Looking just the slightest bit serious, for the first time in minutes. “And it’s not because you’re calling dibs on him, is it...?” 

“No,” I chuckle. “Just... trust me. There’s a very good reason why he’s hiding who he is. That you’re better off not knowing.” 

“Okay,” she says, backing off at last and letting me get on with my work. Or so she lets me believe for five whole seconds. Before I hear a not entirely joking, “But if it turns out he _is_ hot and you didn’t tell me on purpose you are dead to me.” 

***

“Why is it so damn cold in here?”

“It’s the cargo,” he replies only. 

“What, is he having you kidnap frostgiants now?” I say, giving him a look. And something about the silence that answers me tells me I’m not a million lightyears off... “Has it been like this the whole flight back here?” 

No answer. Which I take as a yes. 

“Right. Have this,” I say, pulling a flask from one of the pockets on my coverall. My emergency supply but this does feel like an emergency. Because I’ve been onboard for all of a minute and I’m starting to shiver already. And he was sitting in this frigid air for hours, presumably. “Oh, just take it,” I say, forcing the flask into his unresponsive hand and turn to go lock the door. Because the helmet isn’t coming off until I do, is it? 

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” he says, watching me from behind the disguise. That I might have to remove myself if I want it off, what with his hands seeming far too numb to be up to the job. 

“I think I might be, yes,” I reply, crossing the distance to the pilot seat he hasn’t left since the moment I first boarded. 

“I wish you wouldn’t.” 

“I wish you had a damn drink,” I say, removing the helmet. The metal of it so icy it makes my fingers ache at the touch. “Go on. It’ll warm you up.” 

“I can take the cold,” he says in a strained tone. That only starts making sense when he adds, “There are things in my system making sure it can’t kill me. He knew where he was sending me.” 

At least he sounds bitter. It makes me feel better whenever I hear him respond to his situation with at least some emotion, let alone the appropriate one. 

I take the flask back, unscrew the top and hand it back over. “So it can’t kill you,” I say. “Doesn’t mean you have to just take it. Drink.” 

To my surprise I do actually manage to bully him into taking a sip before handing it over. Which might have been a mistake on his part because I proceed to drain most of what remains. “What? It’s really damn cold in here,” I reply to the look he gives me. 

“You should go back outside,” he suggests. 

“Probably,” I say, staying exactly where I am. Slipping the flask back into a pocket before turning my attention back to him. Wondering just how little he’s going to like what I’m about to do next. Because as willing to talk to me as he is these days it still clearly unsettles him whenever he catches me treating him like a thinking, feeling being whose suffering isn’t something I can easily ignore. 

And I just know that having been protected from hypothermia related death by whatever stuff it is he has in his system he’s just going to treat the cold and all its effects as something there’s no need to do anything about. As long as it doesn’t kill him, what does it matter, right...? 

“What?” he asks, clearly not liking the look on my face. 

I don’t explain. Only reach for his hands and remove the gloves encasing them. Something he puts up about as much resistance to as he did to me removing his helmet earlier. Not sure if that’s more about how badly he’s struggling with the symptoms of hypothermia or if my concern is actually welcome for once. Though I doubt it – there’s definitely suspicion in the way he looks at me. He doesn’t know where I’m going with this and he doesn’t like that.

Not as much as he dislikes what I do next, though...

“What are you doing?” he says when I tug at the zipper and get the upper half of my coverall open. It’s not that dramatic a gesture, really, since I am wearing a shirt underneath. No good reason for him to be giving me that incredulous look... 

“What do you think?” I sigh, taking his icy hands and placing them against my skin to warm up. Keeping mine on top of his, because I can tell he’s not likely to let this go on for that much longer, no matter that it helps. It’s really only happening because he didn’t have the presence of mind to stop me, not being entirely sure what I was about to do – and then it was too late because I was guiding his hands under my shirt so they can absorb my bodyheat. “Any better?” I say, just to distract myself from how unpleasantly icy his touch feels against my ribs. 

“Yes,” he admits, immediately trying to free his hands from under mine. 

“Oh, come on,” I say, rolling my eyes at that so predictable reaction. “Another minute, okay? You need this.” 

“I do not,” he says. And, fine, that’s probably true. The cold is no closer to killing him now than it’s been on whatever frozen planet Tivan has sent him to. But that’s hardly the point, is it? 

Though I don’t try to explain that. I just keep his hands caught under mine, hoping this is doing something to help with the numbness. “You have to stop doing things like this,” he tells me. Sounding like he’s really trying to mean that, too. 

“I only ever do when I can tell you’re having a bad day. It’s not my fault that that’s all of them,” I point out. 

He opens his mouth to answer, then thinks better of it. Probably because there’s just no arguing with that assessment. That really is what his life comes down to. Bad day after a bad day – and knowing that how can I not try to do something about it? Even if it’s something small that ultimately changes nothing about his nightmare of a situation. 

“Why are you like this?” he asks a few moments later, as he catches me shivering. 

“This is an unkind galaxy. A cold one, too,” I add through a smile I know he’s not going to appreciate. And then, just to make things worse, I just go ahead and give him a real answer. “I don’t know how to be any other way. Does anyone? Know how not to be who they are?” 

He says nothing. His no longer cold hands slip from my grasp and I don’t try to recapture them, like I did before. It’s not like it’s a secret from me, that he doesn’t exactly know how to respond to the things I say and do. And do I really know I’m not making his bad days worse rather than better...? 

I could always ask but... well, this was the longest conversation we ever had, wasn’t it? I didn’t think I could expect much beyond that from him.

Not today, anyway. Gonna have to be some other bad day... 

***

“You are starting to freak me out. Haven’t showed up for work hungover a single time this week. Are you feeling alright?” 

“I’m just... indulging in a different kind of unhealthy behaviour these days,” I shrug. 

“What was wrong with drinking?” frowns my tiny, crude, exhaustingly hedonistic colleague who just so happens to be hungover right now. 

“Just not risky enough, you know? How does drinking put you in danger of getting noticed by the Collector?” 

“You could throw up on his shoes while wasted. Heard he had someone publicly executed over it a generation or so ago.” 

“You know what I heard? Majority of the stories we tell about him are made up.” 

“Or is that what he wants us to think...?” she says in what she probably thinks is a knowing tone. 

I say nothing and she retreats into silence herself, seemingly exhausted by this brief conversation. Which suits me just fine. I do have plenty to occupy me as I’m looking over the specs for the new weapons system we’re supposed to be upgrading the ship with. All of them to do with what the hell kind of place he’ll need this kind of firepower for. Because there’s no questioning whether or not he will need it. Tivan knows where he’s sending him, as ever, and as ever he’s quite opposed to the idea of losing his property. So none of this is anything less than absolutely necessary precaution. 

“Okay, you look worried. Is this thing gonna be hard to install?” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I sigh. “And no, it’s not. I can do it all by myself in fact so if you...” 

I don’t even get to the end of the sentence before she gets up and heads for the nearest semi-comfortable flat surface the ship has to offer. Because when did she ever need an excuse to take a nap while on the clock...? 

At least this lets me work in silence. With nothing but my troubled thoughts for company, but then what else is new? 

I should probably find it reassuring, really, that he’ll have all this firepower to draw on if he runs into trouble in whatever hostile territory he’s being sent to this time. But that would require me to take a moment off from angrily reminding myself I have no business being worried. That this is getting too weird now and why did I let it? I knew who he was from day one. I have no excuse. 

That being said I also know who he is now and I have the hardest time reconciling that person with all the stories of Ronan’s campaign of terror across the Xandarian space. Because I never met that killer, have I? Only what was left of him after his will have been broken by the unconditional servitude of his new life. And that person was someone that had a place in my life now. Whether he liked it or not.

“So you know how I said I can install this thing all by myself...?” I find myself saying a few minutes later. The only answer I get is a less-than-pleased groan and next thing I know she’s slowly getting up. With an exaggerated frown on her face that lets me know just how much she likes the idea of having to do any actual work. “Just need you to help me lift this thing up, then you can go right back to your nap.” 

“I always forget how tiny and skinny you are,” she smirks, lifting up the component I wasn’t able to make budge easily. With only one hand, too, just to drive the point home. 

“Show-off,” I reply, rolling my eyes at her. 

“You know that’s why you-know-who let you slip past his defences, right?” she says, startling me by that out of nowhere change of subject. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, wondering if she sees the welding torch I’m holding. And if it’s going to make her rethink whatever answer she has to that question. Knowing her, probably not... 

“It’s what everyone thinks, you know. You being so tiny and unthreatening – that’s what did the trick.” 

“Can you please stop calling me that?” 

“You are literally standing on your tiptoes right now,” she chuckles. 

“It’s not my fault I’m surrounded by freakishly tall people. And who says I slipped past his defences...?” 

She just gives me a look. One I’m really trying to ignore as I’m welding in place. “Are you or are you not the only person that actually saw his face...?” 

“Never said I saw his face.” 

That just earns me another look. I can’t even hold her eyes this time because, okay, I was not great at selling that particular lie to people. “Do we have to talk about this?” I sigh. 

“What else is there to talk about? The inevitability of death? The joys of life inside a dead alien’s cranium? Whether or not we’re allowed to admit we’d definitely fuck Tivan given the chance...?” 

“Pretty sure that’s just you – and you’re never not admitting that,” I roll my eyes. 

“Whatever. We all have our weird thing. Just own yours, it makes life easier.” 

“Does it really?” I wonder. She just shrugs and turns away from me, eager to get back to her nap. Leaving me to ponder those words of wisdom in silence.

***

“So you know how Tivan’s remodelling his place again...” 

“And good morning to you too,” I say, glancing at her to let her know I was not aware we were in the middle of the conversation here. “Also... _remodelling_? Really? He’s getting more cages put it.” 

“Well, he has to, doesn’t he? What with your boyfriend being an overachiever...” 

“My...” 

I blink a few times as I order my thoughts. Decide on just how upset I am over that phrasing. But just as I’m opening my mouth to tell her, she’s jumping in with, “Just let me get to the good news, will you...?” 

“There are good news? You opened with telling me someone we know for a fact has no morals to speak of is getting more cages to imprison feeling, sentient beings in,” I say, openly staring at her now. “How is that a good situation for anyone?” 

“It’s a _great_ situation. For you,” she tells me, eyebrows wriggling.

“Are you drunk again?” 

“Well, obviously. But that’s besides the point.”

“What _is_ the point?” I wonder. 

“I’m getting to it. Would be already there without all the interruptions,” she adds, giving me a look. “Anyway, my stepbrother is working on the remodelling...” 

“Please stop calling it that,” I say, unable to help myself. There’s just something about the word in this particular context just makes my skin crawl. 

“And he and his crew made a big show of implying things would be going a lot more smoothly if they didn’t have to work around you-know-who. They sold it too. He’s been banished to the ship for the next two days.” 

I take a moment to digest that. Because those are certainly news. But as to whether they’re good ones, that’s a whole other question.   
One that I don’t have time to ponder because she’s still not done. “I already had you reassigned to the night shift,” she tells me, seeming particularly pleased with herself over thinking of that. “I think this is where you thank me...” 

“Thank you.”

“And this is where you try it again, with a little more enthusiasm this time...” she frowns. 

“Can I get back to you once I figure out how I feel about this?” 

“No. Because you know how you feel about this right now,” she grins. “Where did you think things were headed, anyway...?” 

“I don’t know. Look, I get to have one brief conversation with him a week, if I’m lucky. So it didn’t matter where it was headed because it was headed there so slowly...” 

“That’s... _adorably_ crazy. We don’t have time to take things slow. This galaxy is a terrible place and it’s out to get us. There are no guarantees in it. All you have is now and you better take advantage of it because there’s no telling whether you’ll get a tomorrow.” 

I can only stare at her. Quite a speech coming from someone so obviously intoxicated... “Words of wisdom just fall from your lips, don’t they?” I grin. Mostly to cover up the fact that she might have gotten through to me with her little rant. 

She seems to take it as a compliment, which she probably should. It really was a hell of a speech – mainly because it consisted of all the things I used to know but apparently needed to be reminded of. 

“Thank you,” I say, this time meaning it. I even grab her in a quick hug to punctuate the words. 

“Careful – I might be a wise drunk but I’m not a particularly well coordinated one,” she laughs when she has to grab onto me for balance a second later. “You’re welcome, I guess. But let’s not pretend this is entirely about you. What? The man is working really hard. He deserves to get laid...” 

And just like that I feel like hugging her again – with my hands around her throat, this time. 

“How are we friends?” I groan. 

***

“Can I come aboard?” 

I don’t wait for answer. Not that I expect him to get the wrong one – but why risk it? As I’ve been reminded so recently, life was short and all we just so happened to live in a galaxy that was always conspiring to make it shorter and just generally worse. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I work here,” I comment. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do. Isn’t this usually when you lock the door?” I add quickly. A little surprised when he takes the hint and does lock us in here together, like he did so many times before. 

Of course what seemed like a scary situation way back when it happened the first time has become a completely different gesture since. Now it meant that he was willing to steal a moment of privacy, one that he didn’t mind me sharing. And it was going to be more than just a moment this time. For once we actually had the one thing that’s always been in such a short supply. Time. 

“Why are you here?” he asks again. 

“You know why. Know why you let me in, too. It’s through here, right?” I ask, even though I know the answer already. I am far more familiar with the uncomfortable little bunk in a nook between the engine room and the main room of the ship than he is. He might have spent considerable amount of time on this ship during the last few months, what with his nearly constant travels, but I’ve been taking naps here for years before he ever found his way to Knowhere. 

“You can’t sleep here tonight.” 

“Who says anything about sleeping?” I chuckle. “Sorry. That’s inappropriate, isn’t it? Also inevitable. Somebody asked me today, you know. Where did I think this was headed. And the thing is I didn’t. Did you spend any time thinking about that?” 

No answer, not in so many words, but I hear a heavy sigh emerge from under the helmet. He’s still keeping it on, but that makes less difference than it probably should. 

“But then again, what is there to think about?” I add, shifting a little to make myself more comfortable on this narrow bunk where I’m absolutely sleeping tonight. If time allows... 

“Inevitable,” he says when he at last does remove his disguise. “Is that what you think we are?” 

“Aren’t we?” 

“Why is that?” he says, as though I haven’t spoken at all. “You know who I am. The things I’ve done...” 

“The things that have been done to you,” I say, earning a look. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know it all. Do you really believe there’s anything you can say to make me leave?” 

“No,” he admits. 

“Then stop trying. And take that armour off.” 

***

We never talked about it so why start now? The fact that the Collector can and for all I know does make some crazy immoral use of all his neural augmentation. Restricting the ways in which he can behave to keep him from ending his life was the obvious thing no one doubted was happening – but there was always the possibility that he was less than trusting of someone who was in his service unwillingly. And made sure there are no secrets being kept from him by studying the record the circuits running through his brain kept. 

For all I knew it was no secret from Tivan I’ve been less than professional in my interactions with the Kree in the weeks since he came to Knowhere. Maybe he didn’t care. There was nothing particularly rare or unique about this situation, after all, so how could it hope to draw his attention away from his many treasures? But even if he did, even if our benevolent overlord saw every seconds that’s been captured by these unnatural blue eyes... No, even that wasn’t enough to make me come to my senses and leave. Because even if this moment wasn’t to remain completely private I still wanted it. Wanted whatever we could make of this stolen time. 

“Why aren’t you more worried?” he asks me when he can no longer tolerate the silence that fills the ship. “I thought all of you were terrified of drawing Tivan’s attention.” 

“I wouldn’t say terrified. He’s the story they scared us with as kids. And when we grew up he was still here. Far too real to be just a scary story and every now and then he does something that reminds us we really don’t want him to notice us...” I sigh. “But missing out on the few things that makes life here at least remotely tolerable, just because the big bad Collector might disapprove is... It’s no way to live.” 

“He’s not just a scary story to me,” he reminds. 

“I know. He’s a scary reality,” I say as a sad smile settles over my lips. “I don’t think I can make you forget that...” 

“But you want to try,” he finishes for me. It was never a secret to either of us after all. 

“I do.”

I really do. Not because he’s having a bad day, not because I have too much compassion for my own good, not because this cruel universe makes me want to drown my sorrows in the nearest person I can get my hands on... There is no good reason. No bad one either. I just do. It’s an impulse I can never not act on. There’s no resisting it – especially now that I can see what he’s been hiding under all that armour... 

I do find it a little intimidating, all that battle-hardened muscle. But the careful way in which he helps me out of my coverall tells me I have nothing to worry about. The way he’s built doesn’t make him predisposed towards roughness any more than my admittedly somewhat petite form makes me in any way fragile. 

It’s just a detail at the end of the day, one we’re not going to let get in the way. Not when it doesn’t feel anything less than inevitable, this thing between us. Something that’s not quite attraction – more of an expression of something even simpler and more ordinary. The one thing that has the power to make the universe seem just a little less dark a place. A connection to another person. Just that. Just the willingness to reach out to someone else in hope it’ll make it feel just a little less cold and lonely for a while. 

“Wait,” he says, startling me into putting some distance between us even though it’s about the last thing I want to do. 

“I haven’t... done anything yet,” I frown. “Have I?” 

“It’s not you.” 

“I swear if your next words are _it’s me_...” 

“It’s the bed.”

“Oh,” I say, bursting out laughing. “Okay, fine. Because it _is_ ridiculously uncomfortable. I’ve been wondering how the hell do you manage to get any sleep on this thing.” 

“I... don’t,” he replies. And the way his eyes glance towards the floor tells me the rest. 

“Yeah, that works for me,” I grin. And have only myself to blame when that’s exactly where we end up... 

***

Living in this galaxy I knew what not to expect. It was far too dark a place for kindness – that’s what we could only ever find in one another. It was too enormous for any of our brief lives to seem to have any meaning at all within its vastness. If there was anything good to be had the blackness we lived our lives in the midst of was conspiring to take it from us... 

“Do you ever wonder what we did to deserve a universe like this one...?” I ask into the silence. 

“Most things in life are undeserved,” he replies after giving it some thought. 

I just nod, feeling inclined to agree with that. Undeserved, yes, that would be the word. “But this was a nice break from it all, though,” I sigh contentedly. 

“It was... enjoyable.” 

I stifle a laugh against his shoulder because how the hell am I supposed to react to that matter-of-fact tone...? “And out of all the people living in this crazy place you’re the one that actually makes it better,” I say, grinning, once the initial outburst of laughter has passed. 

“Do I really?” 

“You do,” I reply, since his question is far too genuine for me not to give a real answer. “You have your moments anyway. Now we just have to figure out how to steal some more.” 

I expect a protest. A reminder that Tivan literally owns him. What I get instead is just the merest suggestion of a smile... “I have been rather reliable,” he says, thoughtfully. “I don’t believe he distrusts me as much as he used to.” 

There might be an answer I could give to that but I don’t waste time on words. I have better ways to communicate how much I like hearing _that_... 


End file.
